


The Secret of Smaug's Old Age

by manatee_patronus



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Interrogation, M/M, Mystery of dragons' old age revealed, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 03:07:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9103972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manatee_patronus/pseuds/manatee_patronus
Summary: Bilbo ventures down into the core of the Lonely Mountain for the first time in search of the Arkenstone. Encountering the dragon Smaug, Bilbo evades him with his magic ring and with riddles, learning in the course of their conversation about the unexpected energy source that allows dragons to grow so old.





	

**Author's Note:**

> It amazes me that this story - the weirdest one I've written - seems to be the one that people like best...  
> Not sure whether it's just because the original scene in the Hobbit is so celebrated, because of my mysterious title, or because the average reader is kinkier than I thought.
> 
> Whatever it is, I'm glad you all seem to like it!

                As Bilbo walked down the long tunnel which presumably led to the treasure in the Lonely Mountain, he tried to take his mind off of his fear by imagining what he would do with his portion of the wealth, assuming they all survived ( _No, don’t think that way,_ he chastised himself). First, his mind got caught up on how he would manage to carry it all back. The dwarves had it easy since they were fighting for their homeland as well as their treasure – they wouldn’t have to relocate any of the treasure. But he would have to lug a chest of precious gold and jewels up over the mountains, through forests, across muddy fields, all while potentially being chased by wargs and orcs and every other foul thing in Middle Earth…

                But what would he _do_ with the treasure? He was already so happy at home in the Shire. He wouldn’t want to change or upgrade his house or any of his earthly belongings. The only thing he longed for was a special person to share his life with. He had never had much luck with hobbit-women. They thought him eccentric and his jokes too off-color. _Eh!_ he thought. In any case, he didn’t want to win anyone over with money.

                Perhaps he would use the money to go on holiday whenever he wanted, maybe to Rivendell. There, he could sit peacefully by the waterfall and write about his adventures, constantly surrounded by the elves’ bell-voices and their delicious food. Yes, that sounded like a good plan…

                As Bilbo descended deeper and deeper into the mountain, the temperature increased. He knew what this must mean, but he pushed the unpleasant thought aside as he continued to distract himself with fantasies. However, eventually the heat got the best of him and he unbuttoned his shirt, peeled it off, and lay it on the stone floor of the tunnel; he would get it on the way back. He didn’t like the vulnerable feeling of being shirtless, but he supposed that if he were to get blasted by dragon-fire, it wouldn’t make much of a difference whether he were clothed or not.

                A shard of red and gold appeared ahead as the tunnel twisted to the left, and Bilbo paused, making sure to keep against the wall and out of sight. It was the opening into the mountain’s halls. From here, he would have to proceed with extra care. He slipped his magic ring onto his finger and became instantly invisible.

                Swallowing nervously, he crept as silently as a hobbit could creep (which was far more silently than other clumsy, two-legged creatures) toward the sliver of light, and watched it enlarge into a smooth archway. As he got closer, Bilbo could see that it opened onto an impossibly large chamber filled with – Bilbo could not suppress a gasp – piles upon piles of gold, jewels, and other riches.

                And there, lying on the jewels as though they were cushions, was the dragon. Smaug was long enough to curl around Bag End twice. His scales were a violent, gleaming red and his snout was long, as was his serpentine neck. Thick whiskers bristled out from his face like a lion’s mane. At the moment, Smaug’s huge eyes were closed and he snuffled in his sleep, snuffles which caused the ground to tremble.

                Bilbo edged closer to the archway until he stood right at the edge of the treasure room. Two things troubled him. One was the fact that he didn’t know how he was supposed to find one Arkenstone amidst all of the treasure in this cavernous room. Thorin had assured him that he would know it when he saw it, but he suspected that Thorin’s dwarfish pride had caused him to exaggerate. How could one stone be so special? The other, more pressing problem was how to travel across the floor without making noise – so thick was the gold on the floor that it would be impossible to step without setting off the clinking of coins or the clattering of cups.

                He took a few steps, only very gradually adding his weight to each step. He also watched his feet to make sure that he did not slip on the uneven piles of gold. He glanced back once at the dragon, but he slept on, the piles of gold immediately in front of his snout trembling before the wind-gusts of each of his monstrous breaths. Bilbo climbed a small mountain of treasure, making his way toward the back of the great hall, both to get further away from the dragon and also because he could see an ornately carved throne against the far wall: he assumed that the Arkenstone would probably be close to where the king sat.

                “Welcome, thief.”

                The sudden, deep voice stopped Bilbo in his tracks. A cold sweat ran down his neck and his heart pounded with fear. He looked over his shoulder. The dragon was awake – perhaps it had been the whole time – and had somehow soundlessly crept over and planted itself directly in front of the door from which Bilbo had just come, blocking his exit. Stretching its leathery wings, its huge, golden eyes roved over the mountain of gold on which Bilbo stood, frozen. The one thing that kept Bilbo from breaking into a mad sprint was the knowledge that the dragon could not see him. He still had one advantage over the beast - the magic ring.

                “Yes, I know you’re here,” the dragon continued, “You stink of dwarves. Yet you are not a dwarf. You are something else entirely, something I’ve never smelled here before.”

                Stretching his long, horrible neck in the air, Smaug flared his nostrils. Very slowly, he began to move in the direction of Bilbo’s gold-mountain. Smaug kept his flank against the wall with the doorway, continuing to block the exit. Bilbo, panicking, scrambled away from the dragon, tripped over the jutting handle of a golden cup, and painfully fell backward over the treasure with a metallic crash.

                For a full thirty seconds after his fall, the avalanche of treasure seethed down the side of the mound on which he now sprawled on his back. He wanted to stand up again, but his legs had turned to rubber and would no longer support him. A few gold pieces sprinkled down over his bare chest.

                The dragon stopped, still about ten feet away, and smiled wickedly. “You may be invisible, thief,” he said. “But you are clumsy. Another trip like that, and that which you desire,” his yellow eyes swept over the piles of gold in the hall, “may be your downfall. Now, speak. Tell me your name.”

When Bilbo remained silent, Smaug’s eyes clouded over and two trails of fire spurted from his mouth in quick succession. Each trail glanced off the gold, 5 feet away on either side of Bilbo. Bilbo shrieked and tried to scramble to his feet, but his legs gave a feeble jerk and stopped working again. “It is in your interest to engage me,” Smaug said impatiently. “Otherwise I can make a quick end of you now.”

Bilbo tried to summon his bravery. “I have not come to steal from you, O Smaug the Magnificent. My name,” he said, keeping the tremble out of his voice only with great difficulty, “is Barrel-Rider.”

Smaug smiled. It was an uncanny thing, because his snout was so long – the wrinkled red lips stretched away on either side of his long, serpentine face. “Barrel-Rider. Interesting,” he said slowly. “I don’t think I believe your disavowal of thievish intentions, but I do enjoy a nice riddle. Where are you from, Barrel-Rider?”

The dragon slowly shifted one of his great paws, the size of a small carriage, forward. Though his movement was silent, Bilbo noticed it. He knew that he had to somehow distract the dragon and then change position – otherwise Smaug would pounce on him within moments. Reaching behind him, Bilbo picked up the same cup that had tripped him. He had an idea; he wasn’t sure if it would work, but he had to try something.

“I come from under hill,” Bilbo said. “And under hill and over hill I have traveled to arrive here. I am Sting-bearer and ring-burglar.”

“Ring-burglar?” Smaug said, his face hardening. “Then you _admit_ that you’re a thief!” He took another step closer, not caring to be sly about it. Bilbo could feel the heat coming off of his breath.

“No,” Bilbo squeaked, “I stole the ring, but that was a different –“

“Do you know what I do to liars, Barrel-Rider?”

The time to act was now. With all of the force that he could muster, Bilbo chucked the cup in front of him and slightly to the left, past the dragon’s advancing, snarling head – he saw Smaug’s eyes follow it, and then he jumped after the cup and blasted it so intensely with fire that it probably melted. But Bilbo didn’t wait around to find out. Immediately after throwing the cup, Bilbo scrambled down the mound, setting off another avalanche of coins. At the base of the mound, he ran to the right, around the mound, and took refuge behind it.

Smaug laughed a terrible, dark, earth-shaking laugh. It sounded like a hurricane warping the earth. “Well-played, Barrel-Rider. I appreciate cleverness in my adversaries. Now, please continue. You were reassuring me that you’ve been cured of thievery since your ring-burglary.”

Bilbo glanced around feverishly, breathing hard out of his mouth. He didn’t want to reveal his location again by speaking, but he knew that the dragon would eventually smell him out if he didn’t respond. His eyes fell on another long, tubular cup, wrought of silver and bearing strange markings. Desperately hoping that his sudden inspiration would work, he seized the cup and crept to the edge of the mound until he could see the dragon. Then he placed the rim of the cup against his cheek, partially covered his mouth with the opening, and spoke:

“I was starting to explain that the situation in which I took the ring was very different.” Bilbo’s voice, distorted by the cup, warbled and rebounded against the high walls of the hall. Watching the dragon’s head turn from side to side in confusion, Bilbo felt a surge of triumph and relief: the distortion of his voice made it difficult for the dragon to tell where it was coming from. “My friends and I were taken in our sleep, dragged deep underground. I encountered a foul creature who wanted to eat me. We played a game of riddles, and even when I beat him fairly, he still would not let me go. It was then that I took the ring. You see, it has a secret that helped me escape and survive…”

“So presumably your ring is the secret to your invisibility,” Smaug said wisely. Bilbo grimaced, wondering if he had given away too much. “And the friends you speak of are dwarves?”

Bilbo hesitated, trying to think of a response that wouldn’t reveal more. Smaug said, “You are clever. You realize, I hope, that these dwarves are not really your friends?”

“What?” Bilbo said, distracted. “Of course they are, they’ve looked out for me the whole –“

“Then why aren’t they down here with you?” Smaug asked. “What interest do _you_ have in this mountain, unknown creature of the west? They are the ones with the history and the foolish tenacity to continue to call this mountain their homeland. What have they promised you in return for the scouting and burglary that you will do for them? A share of their gold?” An ironic tone crept into the dragon’s voice, which sent shivers down Bilbo’s spine. “Perhaps you are unfamiliar with the ways of dwarves, Barrel-Rider,” the dragon said. “But I would think long and hard about whether they actually _intend_ to give you your just reward. Dwarves are not known for their generosity.”

Just when Bilbo started to feel the beginnings of resentment poison his heart, Smaug’s last observation broke the spell. Who was a dragon, the greediest creature of all Middle Earth, to speak of the greediness of dwarves? Bilbo gave his head a shake. He had almost forgotten that in legends, dragons famously toyed with their victims’ minds and even unraveled them at times. They were among the cleverest of all talking creatures.

“Thank you for your advice, Smaug the Invincible. I will make sure that my friends continue to treat me as they ought.”

                The dragon heaved a great sigh and nestled himself into a comfortable dent in the gold. With a leap of his heart, Bilbo noticed that Smaug had shifted his tail, leaving the escape passage unprotected. Perhaps if he could just keep the dragon talking, Bilbo would be able to sneak over unnoticed and escape. Or if need be, he could wait for Smaug to fall asleep. _I hope it doesn’t take that long,_ Bilbo thought as his tummy gave a growl almost loud enough to rival the dragon’s.

“What have you heard about me, Barrel-Rider?” Smaug growled idly from his divan of gold.

Bilbo, who knew from stories that dragons loved flattery, figured that he was picking for compliments about his savagery. “Well, the old songs tell of your fearsome claws, teeth larger and sharper than spears, and scales more beautiful to look upon than the jewels you treasure.”

Smaug grumbled with poorly-hid pleasure. “And what do _you_ think, after meeting me?”

“Oh, the old songs fall far short of your true magnificence, O Smaug the Greatest of Calamities. They do not even mention that your cleverness is just as deadly as your claws and teeth.”

“And what else have you heard?” Smaug prodded.

Bilbo gulped. “I have heard that you coat your body with jewels to make your armor stronger…and that you are known as the Devourer of Maidens.”

Smaug stirred at that, his serpentine neck curling up toward the ceiling of the chamber. “Mmm,” he growled lecherously. “That I am, but not particularly in the sense that you are thinking. I wager you did not know that I don’t generally eat humans.”

Bilbo was surprised at that. “You do not?” he asked.

“No. I much prefer other meatier animals. With humans and dwarves, the bones get in the way. But do you know how dragons attain as great of an age as I have?”

“How is that?”

“We take up energy from the voices of smaller creatures – the louder, the better. This is why we burn down villages, all of the screaming literally rejuvenates us. But then I learned something curious.”

“What is that?” Bilbo asked nervously.

“One noise that gives us even more energy and life-force than screaming is laughter.”

Bilbo peered at the dragon curiously. “How did you find that out, Smaug the Dreadful?”

“There was once a young maiden from the north who chanced upon my mountain without knowing of me. She was traveling south with her lover to visit his family down in Dale. I eavesdropped on them from this chamber. It had been long since I’d had any contact with other people. I’d been keeping a low profile, only emerging from my cave to search for cattle and pigs. Because of this, I was starting to feel old again, a little rusty and crusty around the edges. I needed a good scream to knock the years back again.”

Bilbo, finally realizing that the dragon was telling a story of some length, hurried silently back around the side of his gold mound, stepping carefully toward the exit passageway. He pressed himself against the rough, stone wall, using it to maintain balance as he walked slowly toward the exit.

“I was just stirring up, preparing to go through the North Gate and take them by surprise from the sky, when they laughed. One of them must have told a joke. It stopped me in my tracks. I felt their laughter wash over me like balm, like lotion on my dead and decaying scales. Hers, especially, was potent because of its higher pitch and faster vibrations – even as far away as I was, I could feel it resonate in my deep places, making my joints and wings nimble again.

“I was astounded, and so grateful to this couple for the discovery that I let them stay the night on my mountain and depart in peace. But I had to experiment with this new knowledge, and I didn’t have to wait long. One thing that comes with such a great age as mine is a mixed and confused reputation. The young wonder at the extent of my savagery, as they have no memory of my deeds. The curious youth from Dale often make their way up to my mountain, hoping for a glimpse of me. I waited until a young woman came, and then I flew down to her. I let her climb onto my back, and I took her into my chamber.”

Bilbo paused near the dragon’s spiked tail, wanting to hear the rest of his story against his better judgment.

“It took me a great deal of reflection, but I realized that if I respected this woman and treated her with restraint, it might serve me well in the end. I treated her queenly, like a guest. I told her about my discovery and asked if she would consider helping me. She was fearful and nervous at first, but eventually she agreed.

“I had her lie on the cushions in my sleeping chamber, and using only my tongue and whiskers, I licked and brushed all over her soft, sensitive body, exploiting that weakness in fleshly creatures that is called ticklishness in the Common Tongue.” Bilbo bristled, feeling little ticklish spasms of fear erupt all over his body. He was so deathly sensitive that he even hated to hear the word, “tickle.” In fact, as far as he was concerned, if there was any fate almost as bad as being eaten or scorched by a dragon, it would be being tickled by one.

Smaug continued, “And oh, how her laughter sang and echoed off of the walls of my chamber endlessly. And as I felt youth and vigor course through me like blood, I realized that even aside from this benefit to me, I simply loved overwhelming her with pleasure. For that was what it was, Barrel-Rider.” Bilbo jolted at the mention of his alias, but managed not to disturb the jewels beside his feet. “Pleasure. Every time I let up to give her air, she begged me for more. At the end of the night, she told me that I had excited her even more than the brewer’s son, who met her some midnights in the alley behind the inn. We decided to meet up again for another round of tickling.

“The next time she came, she noticed these cuffs and rope as we passed through the dungeon” - with one giant paw, Smaug toed something on the ground that Bilbo couldn’t see - “and she asked to be bound in them. This time _I_ was hesitant. Was she sure? She assured me she was, that she had enjoyed the last session so much that she simply wanted to make herself more vulnerable and thereby enhance the experience. So I bound her. This time, she was so ticklish that her laughter mingled with shrieks, yet every time I stopped to check on her, she told me that she was fine. Tears pooled at her eyes as I lapped endlessly at her feet, even carefully nibbling her soles with the very tip of my snout. At the end, she asked if she could bring some of her friends next time, as they were now curious about our sessions. Now clearly overjoyed with my decision to play nice with her, I agreed.

“So it’s been for the last few hundred years. The young women and men who are dissatisfied with the pleasures that they receive at home in Dale often visit me in the mountain for my services, and I benefit from the rejuvenation they provide me. Sometimes they even bring me beef and salted pork.”

“So.” In spite of his desire for stealth, Bilbo was so amazed by the dragon’s story that he couldn’t resist asking, “You are called the Devourer of Maidens because of how you tickle?”

Smaug grinned lasciviously. “Mmm, not exactly. You see,” his tongue flicked out of his mouth, very lizard-like, “This tongue is good for more than just tickling, if you catch my meaning. Many women have cum from the attentions of this tongue – some just from the sheer pleasure of tickling, but most from the additional…devouring…that I offer them.” He licked his lips slowly.

Bilbo nodded to himself, flattening his lips in his uncertainty about how to respond. He couldn’t deny that Smaug’s story had surprised him, but he was sure that he would find it a lot more interesting once he was safe up in the open air, laughing about it with the dwarves. He took a few more careful steps toward the door.

“Are _you_ ticklish, Barrel-Rider?” The question chilled Bilbo to the bone. He sensed rather than saw the dragon’s head rise up behind him on the other side of the chamber. He couldn’t speak now or he would give away that he was only a few feet from the door.

“I suspect that you are ticklish, and that’s why you’ve gone silent all of a sudden. We were having such a nice chat, Barrel-Rider.” As Smaug’s thunderous voice came closer to Bilbo, the latter let out an inadvertent squeal of fear. He covered his mouth, hoping that Smaug hadn’t heard him. He didn’t dare turn around because he worried that the shifting of his feet on the gold-strewn floor might give away his position. Besides, he didn’t want to see just how close the dragon had come. He could feel his steaming exhalations on his bare back.

Suddenly, Bilbo felt a soft, feathery touch on his right side. He stumbled away, clutching that side and holding his mouth tight-closed to keep himself from laughing – only to walk right into a similar touch on his left side. He realized that these were the dragon’s whiskers, thick, flexible, and covered with the softest brown fur. The intensity of the sensation almost made him crumple where he stood, folding his arms over his bare skin to protect himself, but he managed to stand with great difficulty. Then, one sneaking, wiggling whisker drilled softly into the top of his inner left thigh.

It was too much for Bilbo. This was one of his more sensitive, hidden spots, and with a ticklish yelp, he lost all composure and bolted for the passageway. He only made it a few steps when he felt something far thicker and rougher than the dragon’s whiskers seize him around the middle. He tried to push down this barrier like a pair of pants and step over it, but it was too strong. As Smaug’s tail tightened around Bilbo, he found himself being forcibly turned until he was face to face with the dragon, whose head was taller than two Bilbos stacked together.

“Don’t leave so soon, Barrel-Rider,” Smaug said. He looked at a point slightly above Bilbo’s head; he was still invisible. “We haven’t even had time to have any fun yet. Let me give you a tour of my tickle chamber.”

“NO!” Bilbo yelled, struggling with all his might – but now his feet were off of the ground – the dragon was holding him aloft solely with the end of his tail. Smaug turned and walked toward a gaping archway in the far wall, still keeping his tail and Bilbo aloft behind him.

“You brought this on yourself, Barrel-Rider,” Smaug commented as he walked. “I play nicely with the people who visit me, but not with those who steal from me.”

“It’s not even your gold to steal!” Bilbo bellowed furiously. “It was the dwarves’ first!”

Smaug looked over his winged shoulder with his scaly, lecherous face. “That’s an unfortunate way to think of it,” he observed coolly. “I’m rather of the opinion that hard work merits reward, and hard work includes the labor of conquest.”

Bilbo blinked and looked around this new chamber. The light in it was different: instead of being lit by the gleam of so much gold, a crack in the mountain above let in a fair amount of sunlight. The sunlight fell on luxurious cushions of brown fur that were arrayed in a circle beneath the sunlight, like a nest.

The dragon lay Bilbo down gently on one of the cushions just outside the pool of light, and then placed one of his large feet on top of Bilbo to prevent him from running away. Bilbo turned his head to the side to breathe, feeling the rough scales of the dragon’s foot against his cheek.

“Now let’s see what kind of creature you are…” Smaug murmured. Bilbo felt something slide beneath his right arm, forcing it up – then his hand was inside of something warm and wet – the dragon’s mouth! Bilbo shivered at the sensation and repressed a giggle as the dragon’s rough tongue tickled his sensitive palms. After searching his fingers with his tongue, the dragon dropped that hand and moved to the other. Here, the dragon found the ring, and with the suction of his tongue, managed to remove it from Bilbo’s finger. Bilbo lay helplessly on the ground, trapped beneath the dragon’s foot as he became visible.

Smaug shifted his paw and quickly pinned each of Bilbo’s arms down, stretched out and palms up, with both of his front paws. “Hmmm,” he said, lowering his head once again until his face was a foot away from Bilbo’s. Bilbo, struggling and failing to push himself up with just his legs, peered back at the dragon’s hungry yellow eyes and his long, thick whiskers that extended lion-like from his face. “I do not believe that I have ever encountered a creature of your stature before. You are clearly not a dwarf, neither are you a man. I wonder if your laughter will still have rejuvenating properties…”

“Please don’t tickle me!” Bilbo squeaked, painfully aware of the vulnerability of his bare tummy, which seemed even closer to the dragon than the rest of him due to its plumpness.

Smaug smiled. “You must be really ticklish for it to be such an unpleasant prospect for you.” And with that, the dragon lowered his head another few inches and began to tickle Bilbo by directing the movement of his whiskers with his facial muscles.

It was agony. Bilbo was howling and shaking with laughter within moments, jerking but unable to throw off the dragon’s whiskers. He felt soft whisker tips dancing in both armpits, drawing ticklish dashes and drilling into the hollows occasionally – because his arms were pinned, he was unable to hide the tender skin. Another whisker drew feather-soft lines all across the surface of his rounded tummy, weaving between his ribs and even teasing the ticklish part of his back fat that was accessible from the side. One whisker teased his excruciatingly ticklish neck, but whenever he ducked his head to defend his neck, the whisker would dart up to brush against one of his ears instead. At least three whiskers stroked his thighs and knees, which bucked to no effect, and another two whiskers wiggled between his toes and tickled the soles of his little feet.

Bilbo was so overwhelmed with the sensations that he didn’t even notice initially that Smaug had stopped pinning him with his paws – while tickling Bilbo, he had spread his paws so that he could lower himself even closer to the ground. However, even after Bilbo realized this, he couldn’t take advantage of his freedom: he was so worn down by tickling that he could only thrash hopelessly on the ground, trying to cover different parts of his body with his hands and then crumpling ticklishly when other exposed parts of his body were attacked. Blocking his tummy with his folded arms, Bilbo rolled over onto his side only to feel a whisker goose the sensitive skin of his butt. He fell back face-up again, laughing endlessly and trying to plead with the dragon between breaths.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, the dragon let up and Bilbo hiccupped as he caught his breath on the ground. He wanted to make a run for it – he didn’t think he could stand any more tickling, but he knew that he had to do it smart. The dragon was bigger and faster than him and would surely grab him immediately if he tried to sprint. But…if he could get ahold of the ring again, then he might have a chance of getting away. While he lay panting, Bilbo surreptitiously cast his eyes around the room, searching for the ring.

“Whatever sort of creature you are,” Smaug murmured, gazing down at Bilbo. “It seems that your laughter _does_ rejuvenate me. And I enjoy listening to it; it is bubbly and intoxicating. I taste your humiliation in it.” After a moment of reflection, he added. “I think I could keep this up for a while.” Frightened butterflies battered around in Bilbo’s stomach. Just as he was about to give up searching for the ring, it glinted at him: it was lying in the pool of sunlight from the ceiling hole, about five feet to his right, atop a faded cushion.

“But let’s make it interesting,” Smaug continued. “Now, I’m going to ask you for some information…about what brings you here…and about your companions.”

Bilbo was distracted from his plotting about how to get to the ring. “There’s no point,” he said. He tried to keep his voice firm, but he heard it quiver. “I will not betray my friends.”

Smaug tilted his gigantic head to the side, affecting a fake expression of pity. “Alas,” he sighed. “On your own sanity be it.”

Suddenly Bilbo felt something heavy press down on his right wrist. Something cool and serpentine trapped it against the cushion, weaved beneath his neck, and then trapped his other wrist up by his head, too. The dragon had formed wrist cuffs with his own powerful tail, pinning Bilbo to the ground. Smaug lowered himself onto his belly and placed his front paws on either side of Bilbo – Bilbo could no longer see the ring over the dragon’s giant claw.

“All right, Barrel-Rider. What is your real name?”

Bilbo said nothing. He closed his eyes and tensed his body. Within moments, the dragon had slid a paw beneath his legs, forcing them up in the air – Bilbo felt the rough, wet, electrifying strokes of the dragon’s tongue against the soles of his feet – he screamed with laughter and tried to kick his feet or twist his legs away, but the dragon simply followed him with his head, even taking one of his feet into his mouth and rapidly subjecting it to flutters from his tongue.

“Your name, Barrel-Rider!” Smaug shouted over his laughter. He decreased the speed of his licking so that Bilbo’s uncontrollable laughter relaxed into endless giggles.

“Noooo!” Bilbo managed between giggles. “I won’t – say – stop it!”

“Where do you come from?”

Bilbo valiantly tried to carry on his riddling from earlier while still being tormented by the dragon’s tickling. “Beneath – I mean – under hill, and over hill, and –“

The dragon placed a paw over Bilbo’s legs, pinning them to the ground. Now he descended on Bilbo’s quivering tummy. With the very tips of his hairy lips, he nibbled on the soft skin all round Bilbo’s navel, while several whiskers drilled into his ribs and stroked his sides. Bilbo shrieked with laughter and jerked around as much as he was able, but he was soon so overwhelmed that he was no longer aware of his movements or of what was coming out of his mouth…

“-the Shire-haha-stop-the Shire-from-the Shire-heheheplease stop!”

The dragon pulled back, his whiskers springing back into place on either side of his face. “Now we’re getting somewhere. The Shire,” he said wonderingly. “I have only heard rumors of this place.”

Bilbo felt ashamed for caving beneath Smaug’s torment. “And why do you have a wizard with you?” Smaug asked.

Bilbo’s insides went cold. _How did he know?_ “I don’t know wh-what you’re talking about,” he stammered.

Smaug snickered and the ground shook. Despite his derisiveness, Smaug also looked worried – it was clear that the idea of confronting a wizard frightened him. Hardening his face into a mask of impassivity once more, he lowered his long neck, passing his head up the length of Bilbo’s trapped body. “I am no fool, Barrel-Rider. Among the stink of dwarves I smell a wizard on you” – he sniffed along Bilbo’s midriff, deliberately tickling him more, and then lay his head beside Bilbo’s and whispered in his ear –“and before you leave here – in one piece or otherwise – I intend to know _exactly_ what I’m dealing with.”

Bilbo shrank away and giggled as the hairs on the dragon’s lips tickled his ear and neck. “What is the name of the wizard who accompanied you?” Smaug thundered, raising himself to his full height.

“There’s no wizard with me!” Bilbo cried. “You must smell someone I encountered along the way!”

Smaug roared with frustration and tossed his head – with a crack, the dragon’s skull collided with a low-hanging stalactite in the ceiling – distracted, the dragon rocked onto its hind legs and clutched its face in agony.

Bilbo leaped up – he knew he might not get another chance. His legs still felt unsteady, but he slid off the side of the huge cushion he was on and darted over to the cushion that held the ring. He tried to scramble onto it, fell back down, and then pulled the edge of it toward him instead: the ring, balanced on top of the cushion, slid down the side of it and landed in his outstretched hand.

Just when the dragon was resettling himself on all fours and opening his eyes, Bilbo donned the magic ring. Smaug roared with fury and sent the cushion before him flying with a blow from his claw. Under cover of the roar, Bilbo scrambled for the door to the main treasure chamber. He didn’t stop or look back the whole time he ran, though he knew that the dragon must be pursuing him. Only once he had reached the doorway to the long tunnel that led back up to the mountain opening did he swiftly duck and grab a small golden medallion – proof for the dwarves that he had made it to the treasure room.

Even this quick motion cost him. As Bilbo straightened up again and launched himself into the safety of the tunnel, he felt a searing heat between his shoulder blades and knew that Smaug must have barely grazed him with his fire. Bilbo hoped that the burn wasn’t serious, but he certainly wasn’t going to stop and check until he made it back into the open air. Soon he could smell the fresh air on his face and see the pure, white light of the outdoors – so unlike the tarnished, gold-red light of the treasure room – through an archway ahead. Bilbo picked up the shirt that he had left on the floor and caught his breath before emerging. All of that sprinting had put a log in his chest that pained him each time he breathed.

“He made it!”

“The burglar did it!”

“Great job, Bilbo!”

The dwarves’ cries of relief poured over Bilbo like soothing ale as he stepped outside. They clapped their hands on his back, and then clucked their tongues with worry and concern when he winced. They turned him around to look at his burn and Thorin put a special healing ointment on it.

Bilbo could tell from Thorin’s narrowed eyes that he wanted to know about the Arkenstone, and he knew that the others would be eager to hear the story of his encounter with the dragon. Bilbo, however, was still shaken and his cheeks hurt from laughing so much. He also felt embarrassed by the prospect of recounting how the dragon had tickled him. But the relieved faces and the concern of his companions heartened him.

“All right, lads,” he told them, settling himself down shakily on a log. “Let’s have a bit of supper and then I’ll tell you what happened.”

The dwarves set to work at once building the fire and drawing out the meat. Bilbo leaned against the wall and turned his face to the sky. It would be a beautiful night to eat outside and he had survived a meeting with a dragon. In his mind, he added this story to all of the others that he had accumulated throughout his journey, the intangible treasures that he would carry home along with his share of the real treasure that waited below in the mountain.


End file.
